Page 43 of Hidden While In Sight

For the first few days, she tired out a lot, and he could tell her head ached like a bitch, which was why he kept telling her to rest.

He found out that first day that Emma was still in diapers. He’d never changed a diaper in his goddamn life, and it wasn’t like they’d packed any. His idea to let her run around without one was a mistake.

Turned out there was a diaper bag in the SUV. He ripped a couple of diapers before he got it right, and that meant there were none left.

After he contacted Ramiro to request supplies, ignoring the questions he didn’t have answers to, Naz had delivered what seemed like half the fucking store, along with the packed suitcases that Ramiro had filled from their house. The boxes of diapers had a kid’s weight printed on them, which seemed easy enough to figure out. When Diego lifted Emma to judge how heavy she was, she peed on him.

Urine bothered Diego about as much as throw-up had. He finished what he was doing and simply changed his clothes after.

Emma was the easier one to figure out of the two kids. She ate anything he gave her, laughed at almost anything he did, and crashed into a hard sleep often. He would hold her against his chest while she napped, finally getting some surveillance done for his new job.

Connor was harder to get a handle on. His emotionless face reminded Diego a lot of his mother’s. Connor had slipped into Hannah’s room so often that Diego asked the little boy for help in watching over her, as long as he promised not to wake her. He’d seen the blankness switch to determination. Diego dragged a chair into the room so the boy would be more comfortable.

That initial day, she slept a lot more than she was awake.

The first time she’d come out of the room after her long sleep, he’d found her staring at him with Emma. The little girl had passed out on his chest, and he’d been doing that back rub thing that seemed to work on her while studying the monitors and listening to brainless conversations through the headphones he’d been using. The kids didn’t need to listen to the shit these new fuckers went on about.

He felt Hannah’s eyes on him and turned his head, and the imp in his arms took up the neck space he’d created.

Hannah’s expression had a twist in it.

Diego was a killer. It’d make sense if she didn’t want him touching her kids.

“Am I doing it wrong?” he asked, the rumble in his chest making Emma stir.

“I can take her,” Hannah offered, shifting closer and trying to smooth her expression without succeeding. Pain was etched into her features.

Connor hovered behind her, his hands twisting his shirt hem.

“You got a headache?” Diego asked.

Hannah started to shake her head but winced.

“Please don’t lie to me, mami,” Diego said, trying to soften his tone.

Hannah hesitated but then admitted, “Yes.”

“I left some pills in your bedroom that the doctor gave us. You should eat, too.” His eyes shifted to the boy. “Connor, show your mom where the sandwiches I made are.”

Her son took her hand and led her to the kitchen.

Diego was torn when Hannah tried to take over childcare too soon. Though he knew she wanted the time with them and likely didn’t want someone like him caring for them, he also worried that she needed more time to heal. She tired too easily, and the headaches persisted.

On the third day, Hannah felt strong enough to handle bedtime alone. Diego let her, ignoring the acid that curled in his stomach at being left out. Bedtime had always been special between Hannah and her kids, and a few days with him around shouldn’t change that. He considered putting a camera in there so he could watch.

She came out of the kids’ shared room, her hand resting on the doorknob.

Diego tried not to stare—or at least tried not to be obvious about it.

Hannah had taken off the bandage. She looked less fragile without it, but she was pale. Her throat still had the darkened bruises from her husband’s hands.

All Diego wanted to do was drink her in. Sometimes he slipped into her room just to watch her breathe. When he slept, he often woke with the fading nightmare of her dead. In it, the image of her empty, staring eyes overlapped with his memory of his mother.

Hannah approached his desk. He turned from the monitors, pulling his headphones down.

“We should talk,” she said in that monotone of hers. It no longer rasped. “We haven’t yet.”

“How’s your head?” he asked.

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